


Returning a Favor

by Spiceloaf



Series: Displacement [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: (its qibyn), Aftercare, Alien Biology, Asexual Character, Asexuality Spectrum, Awkward Sexual Situations, Bathtub Sex, Belly Kink, Egg Laying, Explicit Consent, Fear Play, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, Kink Discovery, M/M, Magical transitioning, Mind Meld, No Tentacle Sex, Oviposition, Past Mind Control, Past Torture, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, SORRY YALL, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Xenophilia, a bit of, but just like a tiny bit, but like. in a not very sexy way, complicated relationships with your trauma, hes got a dick folks, maybe later - Freeform, sorta? as of this fic, well here we go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:02:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29263224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiceloaf/pseuds/Spiceloaf
Summary: Qibyn has a problem. Augustus goes a bit beyond what counts as being a good friend.
Relationships: Qibyn & Augustus Merrian, Qibyn/Augustus Merrian, mind flayer/human
Series: Displacement [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2148948
Kudos: 16





	Returning a Favor

**Author's Note:**

> so augustus works through some Trauma in this fic, which isn’t exactly pertaining to rape in the conventional sense but involved violation and a loss of control (mind rape by evil trees basically). its only vaguely mentioned, but if thats going to bother you you should probably back out now. everything else in this fic is very positive and gentle, if awkward at times, and this particular experience is a Good one for him. also theres a side of ovi, yeehaw.

Augustus hasn’t seen Qibyn in a week. _Seven whole days_ , and at this point he’s advanced from mild concern to outright worry. The only evidence he has that the mindflayer is even still alive is the food that keeps disappearing from storage sometime during the middle of the night, which means he’s not away on any sort of secret mission. He’s probably hiding in his room, though why he would be, Augustus has no idea.

When asked, Kyrus seems just as clueless as Augustus is about their friend’s sudden absence. The minotaur claims that he managed to get Qibyn to open his door a crack a few days before and he’d seemed alright, if tired, but that he hasn’t seen him since then. Hildur _definitely_ knows something—he can tell because she’s not doing her whole overprotective mother bear routine—but she ignores him when he asks about it, and gives him chores to do if he pushes any harder.

Gods, he’s tired of scrubbing the floors. He’s also no closer to figuring out what’s up with Qibyn, and kind of at the end of his rope here. People don’t just lock themselves in their room for _no reason_ , and dammit, he’s worried for the guy.

Which is how he finds himself standing outside Qibyn’s room on the dawn of the eighth day, ear pressed against the door to try to catch any sounds from within. He thinks he _might_ be able to hear movement, maybe the faint rustle of cloth, but he can’t be sure he’s not imagining it. What if he is? What if Qibyn had a heart attack or something and is lying dead on the floor? Anxiety tightens around his throat, and before he knows it he’s knocking. The sound rings out louder than he’d meant it to, and in the following quiet, he desperately hopes Hildur didn't hear that.

After a long stretch of silence, Qibyn’s voice answers, muffled through the door. “Hildur?”

 _Oh thank fuck, he’s alive._ Augustus swallows down the sudden relief and clears his throat. “Uh. No. It’s me, Augustus.” The silence that follows his statement feels...off, somehow. He tries again. “Just… coming to check on you. You’ve been gone for a while.”

The pause that comes after is even longer. Augustus fidgets, his nerves coming back with a vengeance as all kinds of reasons for this strange behavior come to mind ( _maybe he’s mad at me, maybe he’s finally snapped, maybe he’s dying—_ ) before at last the door unlocks with a quiet click and opens just a bit to reveal Qibyn, though he seems to be more blanket than illithid right now. What little skin not covered by the quilt wrapped around his shoulders is pale and dry, and he blinks down at Augustus with a nervous expression that looks downright unnatural on his usually cheerful face. “I… Is there something I can help you with?”

“Woah, Qibyn, are you alright? You look like shit.” Without thinking, Augustus steps forward into Qibyn’s personal space, holding the mindflayer by the shoulder with one hand (he looks like he’s about to keel over) and feeling his forehead with the other, though he belatedly realizes he has no idea what temperature a mindflayer is _supposed_ to be. Qibyn goes uncharacteristically stiff at his touch, leaning back and glancing away. The feeling of wrongness only grows, and Augustus backs off from him, unsure. “...Qibyn?”

The mindflayer’s eyes dart between Augustus and the floor. “What do you need?” he asks again, and the forced pep in his voice doesn’t match the exhausted slump of his shoulders at all.

“I came here to check up on you, man; I haven’t seen you for days! What do _you_ need?” Qibyn’s gaze finally focuses on him, and Augustus sees his pale skin bloom with faint, anxious lavenders. He pushes a little harder. “You’ve done a lot of shit for me, and I’ve been worried about you.”

“Oh… T-thank you,” Qibyn finally says, drawing the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “And uh, sorry. I’ll be okay, really, and you probably shouldn’t come in.” He steps back like he’s planning to close the door on Augustus, much to his dismay, but then his knee buckles under him and Augustus barely makes it in time to catch him before he can fall to the ground.

“Shit, this doesn’t really look _okay_ to me!” he barks. Qibyn struggles to get his feet back under himself again, still clutching the blanket tight around his shoulders, and Augustus has to jostle him a little to get him to look at him. “Hey. Hey, listen. There’s no way I’m leaving you like this.”

“Okay, okay, fine!” Qibyn says, in the slightly hysterical voice one uses when things are not fine at all. He manages to stand under his own power again once Augustus lets him go, and he turns away with a huff. “Come in, I guess.” He withdraws back into the room and Augustus follows, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

The room is even dimmer than the hallway was, with the curtains drawn over the window and only a single lamp flickering away on the bedside table. What little light there is glitters off Qibyn’s collection of trinkets scattered around the room, almost like stars. The door to the bathroom is open, and Augustus can hear the rushing of water from inside like the bath is being filled. Qibyn shuffles back to his bed where he joins the twisted nest of blankets piled on top of the mattress and pats the space next to him. Even with the blanket-cloak to soften his edges, he looks unnaturally stiff. Augustus strides over and plops down on the bed, worry rising in his throat at the pain creasing the illithid’s brow.

“Seriously, what’s wrong?” He presses. “Are you sick?”

Qibyn’s tentacles twine around each other nervously, and he’s avoiding Augustus’s gaze again. “Well… sort-of-not-really. I… are you _sure_ you want to get into this?”

Warning bells go off in Augustus’s head, but he firmly ignores them. This is his _friend_. “Fuckin’ yeah man, I can’t just leave you like this.”

Qibyn shivers and seems to bite back a noise of pain, which sends Augustus’s heart up into his mouth. “O-okay, I guess we’re actually doing this. Quick, what do you know about, um, illithid reproduction?”

Out of all the shit Augustus expected to come out of his friend’s mouth, _that_ was pretty far down the list. How the fuck does he respond to _that_? He knows he’s gaping like a fish, and he tries to remember how to work his mouth again. “Not—“ His voice cracks, and he has to try again. “N-not much? Books just talk about the, uh, c-ceremorphosis.”

Qibyn nods miserably like he expected this, and embarrassed teals and magentas are beginning to join the purple on his skin. “Well, the tadpoles used in ceremorphosis have to come from somewhere, you know? So, uh.” He releases his hold on the blankets and lets them fall from his shoulders, revealing all at once that he’s not wearing a shirt and that his middle is noticeably distended, rounded out from his otherwise scrawny frame. “...You caught me at a really bad time.”

Augustus feels his own stomach swoop sickeningly at the sight, and suddenly all he wants to do is leave the room. It’s too close, too much like what he went through only a couple months ago, and he’s starting to wonder if you can get second-hand dysphoria because that’s what this feels like.

Clearly he doesn’t manage to keep any of this off of his face, because Qibyn shrinks in on himself, dark green blooming over his skin. “I— I’m sorry, this is why I didn’t want to tell you about it, _really_ I’ll be _fine_ —“ As if to directly contradict his words, he breaks off with a hiss of pain, and Augustus can actually _see_ a— _oh god_ —a contraction ripple through his abdomen. _Fucking hell_. Augustus tries to bite back his nausea and reaches out to grab Qibyn’s hands, letting the mindflayer grip him like a lifeline while Augustus internally curses to himself. It’s _freaky as shit_ , but it doesn’t change the fact that Qibyn is hurting, and he can’t just leave because he’s a little skeeved out.

He starts massaging at Qibyn’s palms, hoping he’ll focus on that feeling instead of the pain, and soon enough he can see the tension leak out of him as the contraction— _don’t think about it_ —passes. Qibyn is still holding onto him, though now his grip has become softer, less frantic as he takes deep, measured breaths and stares miserably down at the rumpled sheets between the two of them.

Augustus takes a deep breath. Lets it out. Tries to keep his voice gentle and even as he says, “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

Qibyn’s eyes snap up to meet his, and if he had eyebrows Augustus is sure they’d be in orbit. “Oh! Are— Are you sure?”

Not really, but he thinks of Qibyn’s soothing voice and gentle fingers combing his hair back when he’d been sick out of his mind, and he nods more confidently than he feels. “Yeah. It’s only fair after what you did for me, you know?”

Qibyn stares at him for a long moment, conflicted, then finally leans forward to rest his forehead against Augustus’s shoulder, letting out a shuddering sigh as he does.

“Okay. I’m uh, pretty far along already, so… I need to do this in the bath. I was getting the tub ready before you came in, actually.” That makes sense, Augustus thinks. He has vague recollections of pools being involved in the mindflayer life cycle. Qibyn doesn’t really seem to be in good enough shape to make it there under his own power, though; now that he’s let his guard down, the stiff lines of his body have given way to a putty-like compliance, and he’s at least halfway into Augustus’s lap at this point. Augustus sighs, collects the noodle-man into his arms, and stands up with him clutched securely to his chest. It’s not difficult; Augustus may be shorter, but he’s also pretty fucking beefy, and even with the extra cargo, Qibyn is light. The real challenge is wrangling all of his long limbs out of the way of his own legs as he carries him to the bathroom.

The tub is mostly full by the time they get to it, and Augustus turns the faucet off once he gets Qibyn standing on his own two feet again. The mindflayer is quick to climb in, not even stopping to remove his pants before he sinks into the water and sighs in relief. Augustus considers his options, then turns around and strips himself of his own vest and tunic. No sense in getting them wet, too. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the sink and even now, years from his reincarnation, the sight of his chest (or lack thereof) makes him giddy. It’s _almost_ enough to forget about the twisting roots spreading out from his sternum, visible just below the skin.

There’s the sound of water shifting from the tub behind him, followed by a _noise_ , like a low, warbling trill. Augustus doesn’t know _what_ that noise is; it’s not the chirrup Qibyn makes when he wants to get his teammates’ attention, nor is it the rattling hiss he makes when he’s in pain. Augustus’s body sure seems to _think_ it knows, though, if the warm thrill that runs down his spine is any sign. Slowly, he turns around.

Qibyn is spread on his back in the tub, which is deep enough that most of him is submerged. His head is tipped back to rest against the edge, and there is a heady flush of magenta forming along his cheekbones as he shifts his hips, seemingly unable to get comfortable. Augustus swallows, ignores how hot his ears feel, and kneels by the tub, reaching in to grab Qibyn’s hands again. That seems to get him to focus a little, though… gods, he’s a mess. Augustus isn’t sure how he was keeping it together earlier when now he seems to have fully given into… whatever this is. The illithid squirms, his tentacles tangling with the lip of the tub when he tilts his head to look up at Augustus.

“I-it’s, um. Uh.” He tenses up again, and this time the groan that comes out of him has the ring of something _other_ than pain along with it. “It shouldn’t be t-too long now.” He reaches down and fumbles with his belt, but Augustus can see now that his hands are trembling and he doesn’t quite manage to get around the buckle.

Augustus rolls his eyes. “I don’t know why you didn’t do that _before_ you got in the bath.” Qibyn doesn’t respond, just starts shoving at his pants like he can get them over his hipbones without undoing the belt, leaving raised lines where he’s not careful enough with his nails, and Augustus sighs. “Oh _come on_. Here, let me do it.” He reaches over, but can’t really get a grip from this angle, so, face heating, he kicks off his boots and socks and climbs into the bath with Qibyn, kneeling over the mindflayer’s legs in the lukewarm water. Augustus shoves Qibyn’s hands away and undoes the belt buckle himself. He tries to focus on how exasperated he is as he pulls the belt free of the loops, instead of the definite arousal beginning to coil in his belly. _Come on, really? Think of something else. Think of Gemmanene’s saggy ass._

Qibyn sighs in relief once the belt is gone, and suddenly Augustus has a hard time looking at anything but him. The colors shifting across his skin are mesmerizing. Augustus sees his abdomen ripple again, and when Qibyn grunts in pain, he can’t help but reach out and smooth a gentle hand over his midriff like he can somehow soothe the discomfort for him. Amazingly, it _does_ seem to get him to relax a bit. Qibyn hums softly. “...Thanks.”

Augustus’s face feels like it’s on fire. “Uh. Yeah. Okay. I’m trying really hard to not assume shit, but like, is there another parent who should be here or…?”

Qibyn shakes his head. “It’s an— an automatic process. We just… do this ourselves, maybe two or three times in a life cycle. These w-won’t hatch without any fertilization, so don’t worry about that. It just means, that, that sometimes I have some eggs to deal with—“

Qibyn breaks off with a little noise, high and reedy in his throat. Eggs, huh. That’s a relief. Augustus is decidedly more okay with this now that he knows there aren't going to be tadpoles wiggling out of his friend’s ass.

...Maybe a little _too_ okay with this, actually. He’s discovering some things about himself today. Augustus swallows hard, unable to get himself to remove his hand from the swell of the mindflayer’s stomach. “It… hurts, huh.”

Qibyn shivers, and Augustus _feels_ the muscles under his hand flex around the eggs inside him. “M-Mhm.”

Augustus just _can’t stop staring_ , his gaze drawn like a magnet to the heaving of Qibyn’s bare chest, the shifting patterns over his skin, the way the gills on the sides of his neck flare like they’re trying to learn how to take in air. He’s probably, _definitely_ , reading this wrong, but... “Is it… does it feel… good?”

The magenta flush across Qibyn’s cheekbones deepens and spreads to most of his face. His voice is small when he answers, “I… I-it _can_ , given the right… attention.”

 _Oh._ Augustus has the distinct feeling he’s teetering on the edge of something, here. He’s a little lightheaded with it to be honest. _Fuck. This is weird. This is so weird._ Desperately hoping he isn’t crossing a line just yet, he skims his fingertips feather-light over the tight skin, leaving magenta shadows in his wake. “Uh. I can totally leave if you want, but... would you like me to… help with that?” Of course, he has ulterior motives (namely, the one stirring between his legs), but he also genuinely wants to make sure Qibyn gets through this alright, and he’d looked _really_ bad when he’d first answered the door.

Qibyn closes his eyes and tilts his head back, which only highlights the flush spreading down his throat to his collarbone. “Maybe not usually, but right now? That… that would be nice,” he sighs, and Augustus’s dick twitches. Fuck. Okay then.

For a second he just kneels there in the water, uncertain. Despite being the instigator of all this, he has _no idea_ where to even start. He’s not inexperienced, exactly, but he’s never tried anything with an illithid before, and something tells him the biology doesn’t quite translate like it does between the more human-like races. He has… so many questions, but somehow he doesn’t think Qibyn would appreciate them at the moment, so instead he takes a steadying breath and asks, “What do you want me to do?”

In response, Qibyn lifts his hips and shimmies his pants and underwear off so Augustus can better fit between his lanky legs, tossing the garments out of the tub where they hit the floor with a wet _schlap_. Augustus isn’t sure what he expected— a tentacle or something?— but what he’s greeted with is… not it. Slightly higher up on the pelvis than human genitalia, there’s a ring of nubby tendrils surrounding an opening of some sort, though that opening seems to be currently sealed into a vertical slit that sticks out a little, like a pair of lips.

“Uh,” Augustus says, intelligently. He reaches out, then pulls back at the last second, hands fluttering uselessly over the area. Qibyn trills impatiently and grabs his right hand, gently guiding it through the water to his groin. Under his fingers, he feels the muscles flutter, relax, and then the slit swells open and out like a fleshy magenta flower. He rubs his thumb experimentally along the soft folds and Qibyn shivers, yellow starbursts blooming on his skin like fireworks, and, well. Augustus may still be a little unfamiliar with his own current equipment, but he definitely remembers how to work a cunt. This is that, but flashier, right?

So, praying he isn’t making a huge oversight here, he sets to work. It takes a bit of adjustment; as far as he can tell, there’s no real “sweet spot” for him to target. He can’t press too hard against the outer tendrils, but he finds that gently rubbing his little finger over them as he goes gets some good noises out of the mindflayer. He’s two digits in when it occurs to him that maybe he should be coming at this like something with a tentacle, and he experimentally moves his fingers in an undulating sort of motion. Qibyn warbles and throws his head back, exposing his throat, and Augustus is debating on whether or not kissing it is too intimate for whatever this situation is when something presses against his fingertips that wasn’t there before. He pulls back, maybe a bit too quick if the squeak Qibyn makes is any sign (“Shit, sorry!”), but then the illithid seizes up and out comes a cluster of eggs.

They’re clear, like frog eggs, roughly marble-sized, and they float through the bath water around them in a way that is both eerie and decidedly un-sexy. They stop coming after a couple seconds, though, and Augustus finds himself hovering in uncertainty again. “Uh. Was that it?”

Despite the dazed look to him, Qibyn manages to fix him with an incredulous squint. “Does it _look_ like that was it?” And, well, fair enough; he’s less bloated than before, but still definitely gravid.

Augustus gets back to it, leaning forward a little more to give his wrist a better angle. He’s single-mindedly focused on getting the motion right, so he’s almost surprised when Qibyn reaches out with his tentacles to explore his face. It starts with feather-light touches to his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, then travels down to cradle his jaw and hook around his neck and shoulders like Qibyn is holding him there in some sort of weird embrace. His trousers are _far too tight_ by now, and when Augustus swallows, one of the tentacles follows the bob of his Adam’s apple. Qibyn makes a noise of wonder, and Augustus guesses he’s not the only one getting a biology lesson today.

“S-so,” he rasps, hyper-aware of the tentacle playing with his lower lip. “Is there some sort of climax I should be working toward, or…?”

This close, it’s easy to hear the needy warble underscoring Qibyn’s every breath as he speaks. “Not… quite. Not really l-looking for that, here. Just… need a distraction from the— _ah_ — from the pain, please.”

Right on cue, another contraction seizes him. This time, Augustus is more ready for it, and instead of pulling back entirely he lingers on the outside, sweeping his thumb along the little nubs there. Qibyn outright _moans_ through the next wave of eggs. The tentacles around Augustus’s head clutch tighter at him, and he has the sudden realization that this is probably similar to what other people feel right before they get their brains eaten. He can’t see it, but he knows Qibyn’s beak is _very close_ to his face, and one bite would be all it would take to put an end to him.

For _some fucking reason_ , the thought is the opposite of a turnoff. Instead, a bolt of white-hot _want_ shoots down his spine, leaving a warm tingling in its wake, and Augustus is seriously regretting not taking his own pants off before getting into this. He grinds down on Qibyn’s thigh, hissing a frustrated breath between his teeth because the friction is good but it isn’t _enough_.

It’s the color change that Augustus catches out of the corner of his eye that gets his attention, because dark green is definitely not the color he associates with good sexy things. He eases up, disengaging just a little so he can look Qibyn in the eye. “What? What’s wrong?”

The magenta around Qibyn’s cheeks is still there, but swirls of teal and green are making their way across the rest of him. He looks _worried_. Did Augustus hurt him? Qibyn stares back at Augustus for a few seconds, then drops his gaze to the water. “You’re…” He clears his throat, and Augustus feels a hand come to rest on his hip. “I haven’t been making this good for you.”

Oh. Augustus laughs breathlessly. “I mean, thanks, but Qibyn, this isn’t about me. I’m just trying to make… _whatever_ this is, easier on you. I can just, you know, go finish myself off when you’re done. It’s fine.”

Qibyn’s brow furrows, dissatisfied. “I… I know this started… weirdly, but—“ he gasps, and Augustus soothes the cramp away with gentle touches to his sex. “But I… Here, I can do something if you want.” He guides Augustus down by the grip he has on the back of his neck and they end up very close, forehead to forehead. Augustus feels something intangible brush feather-light over his thoughts, and in any other situation he would freak the fuck out, but he _knows_ this touch: bright and bubbly and innately Qibyn. Even so, his breath stutters and his heart seizes in his chest at the memory of _stars_ and _hungry_ and _mine_ , and he has to take a second to remember where he is.

Qibyn is patient, not pressing him, just letting him know he’s there. Augustus takes a shuddering breath, counts the ways these tentacles are different from the roots ( _warm instead of cold, smooth instead of wiry_ ), and lets him in.

It’s a little bit like being greeted by an overly-affectionate golden retriever at first, all happy and fluttery and surprisingly gentle. There’s no painful digging at his thoughts, just respectfully gliding through the spaces between them, and Augustus huffs a laugh, pleasantly surprised despite himself. Then it’s like someone flips a switch and Augustus groans, embarrassingly loud as he’s filled with sensations that aren’t quite his. There’s the ghost of a hand on him, _in_ him, and sensory feedback from tentacles that he doesn’t have wrapped around hot skin, and an aching fullness in his lower abdomen that has him clenching around nothing. “ _Fuck_ , Qibyn, _holy shit_.”

The green on his skin lightens back to a pleased peach color, and Augustus can actually feel Qibyn’s satisfaction in his head as he giggles breathlessly. “See? N-now it’s good for both of us!” How is he so composed if it feels like _this_? As it is, Augustus can only nod in fervent agreement, chest heaving, and when Qibyn continues it sounds very far away. “Try— try moving.”

Augustus returns to what he’d been doing before, curling his fingers deep inside Qibyn, and he feels it in a part of him that doesn’t exist, which is both frustrating and incredibly hot. _Nice to know I’m apparently this good at handjobs._ Like this, it’s easy to know what feels good to Qibyn and what doesn’t, and Augustus gets it down to a science: curl the pinky around the outer tendrils, press in with the thumb, twist the wrist. When the next contraction hits, Augustus can hardly feel the echo of pain, most of it turned into an intense pressure that gets tangled up in his head with the pleasure. He and Qibyn gasp as one, and Augustus feels Qibyn shudder under him while he grinds back on his thigh, feverishly wishing Qibyn had something to actually put in him. He’s being bombarded by sensation from every direction, and it’s a lot.

“N-Not… not going to last much longer,” he admits.

“Oh, is _that_ what that feeling is?” Qibyn asks, dazed. “When you s-said climax, I didn’t realize you meant _you_ had a time limit.”

“I mean, we’ll see?” Augustus shivers as the phantom pressure builds and tries to keep his hips still so he doesn’t accidentally set himself off. “I used to be able to— _ah_ — keep going, but I haven’t tried with this body.”

Qibyn clenches down on his fingers, his walls fluttering around them in that way that means more eggs are on the way. “I’m almost done, just—“

And then it hits Augustus like a sledgehammer, the combination of warm friction and tentacled grip around his throat and the phantom pain-pleasure of the contraction launching him right over the edge. He barely remembers to remove his hand so Qibyn can push out the last of the eggs. He comes, hard enough to make him double over until he’s bracketing Qibyn in with his arms, and then it’s like he’s sliding out of his own body and into Qibyn’s, and he looks up at himself as the eggs stretch him open one last time and the peak of his orgasm draws out into slow, intense waves that seem to go on forever, dragging him along and under.

The comfortable haze that follows is deeply enticing, and Augustus allows himself several seconds to bask in the post-nut warmth before he bothers to untangle Qibyn’s thoughts from his own. The other man goes without resistance, and Augustus is reminded of a lazy snake on a porch, basking in the sun; he prods and pushes the sleepy coils back into the wild, and the feeling he gets back is grumbling acceptance. There's no backlash, no clinging to his thoughts, and it’s another comforting difference between this experience and the influence of the Second Aspect.

Alone in his body once more, Augustus blinks back to awareness to find Qibyn has released his physical grip around Augustus’s head as well, his tentacles curled loosely around the man’s shoulders instead. His body is still tingling with the aftershocks of pleasure, and he feels pretty damn good, despite the ache beginning to make itself known in his knees and back and wrist.

“ _Hhhhokay_. Wow. Uh,” he swallows, his mouth uncomfortably dry. “You… good?”

Qibyn makes a soft, drawn-out sound, seeming to melt into the tub as he looks up at Augustus with heavy-lidded eyes. “...Yeah. That was… all of ‘em.” He shifts like he means to sit up, but winces and settles back with a hiss of pain. “O-ooh, okay. Sore.”

Augustus can imagine. He levers himself back upright, grimacing through his back’s protests, and shivers as gooseflesh breaks out along his bare skin. Without the warmth of arousal, the water is actually pretty cold. “Yeesh. Okay, let’s get you out of here.” He gets his feet under himself and goes to gather Qibyn up into his arms again, trying to ignore how the way the mindflayer reaches for him makes his heart melt a little. By some miracle, he manages to haul them both upright and out of the bathtub without slipping. In the absence of a towel, he uses his shirt to wipe some of the water (and slime?) off of Qibyn, who seems to be barely able to keep his eyes open.

Before long, he’s got his friend back in bed, tucked snugly under the thick blankets. Augustus has to gently detangle Qibyn’s tentacles from his hand and the mindflayer stirs, squinting up at him. “Are you going?” he asks, and Augustus can’t quite name the emotion in his voice when he does, but it makes something in him ache.

He glances at the bathroom door, then back at Qibyn. “...Um. Do you want me to?”

Qibyn doesn’t respond out loud, but that gentle touch skims over his thoughts again and Augustus gets impressions of _thankfulness-companionship-home_. It’s nice, a bit like a hand around his, and while there are a lot of ways the message could be interpreted, he doesn’t feel up to the walk back to his room right now, so he decides to take it as an invitation to stay. “Okay. Let me hang some stuff up to dry and I’ll be back.”

Augustus retraces his wet footprints across the room, becoming uncomfortably aware of the damp fabric of his pants clinging to his legs and the sticky spend still trapped around his groin. In the bathroom, there’s water all over the place, wet clothes scattered across the floor, and a bathtub full of gelatinous eggs. Standing in the middle of it all, Augustus runs a hand through his hair and sighs, taking a moment to really appreciate just how fucking weird his life is these days.


End file.
